The dog hobbled awkwardly on three legs and peed on the left front tire of the Impala.
Maddocks snorted. “See? You don’t even have to lift your leg now. There’s an upside to everything.”
He got out his phone and called his superior while Jack-O led him across the parking lot on a little sniffing expedition.
“Buziak, it’s Maddocks. We could have an active serial on our hands.” Quickly, he briefed his boss on the ominous similarities between his floater case and the cemetery case that was being splashed all over the media.
Buziak was silent for a long moment. Maddocks looked up at the windows of the hospital building. Christmas tree lights flickered in one.
“Any sign of a crucifix?” Buziak said.
“Can’t rule it in or out yet. Couldn’t tell from the preliminary external—facial tissue was severely scavenged by invertebrates. The internal, X-rays, could reveal more.”
Buziak instructed Maddocks to keep him immediately apprised of any new developments, day or night. Meanwhile, he was going to get authorization to set up a task force and have a dedicated incident room ready first thing in the morning.
Maddocks killed the call feeling truly energized for the first time in a long, long while. He checked his watch, then lifted Jack-O’s tubby little body up from the snow. He carried him back to the car and got into his Impala with Jack-O. He laid a spare jacket on the passenger seat and set the dog upon it. Temps were dropping as night crawled in. He found the water bottle and bowl he’d tossed into his car this morning, and he filled the bowl, which he placed on the floor on the passenger side. He then unwrapped the turkey salami sandwich. He hand-fed Jack-O the hospital fare, breaking off pieces and delivering them to the critter’s mouth. The dog’s breath was smelly, and the rascal was clearly starving.
“So, what’s your story, huh?” Maddocks said to the animal for the hundredth time, as if the three-legged canine might suddenly answer one day. “Should’ve called you John Dog. Like John Doe, eh.” The animal burped.
“Never mind. You going to be good now? Catch some Zs?” Maddocks smoothed the dog’s head. And be dammed if that funny little tail didn’t thump against the car seat. Maddocks smiled. It was the first time he’d seen Jack-O’s tail wag, and it gave him an odd punch to the heart. It had not been his choice to rescue a dog, but their paths had collided in the dark of one night, and say what one might, it made him feel good to have made a difference, to see Jack-O’s tail finally wag. Maybe that’s all it took to feel human—to know that you’d made a difference in the life of another.
He shut Jack-O inside, leaving the windows open a crack. He still had enough time to join Leo in the cafeteria, where he might find something hotter and more nourishing than a stale sandwich.
An extra bite fueled his stride as he made his way toward the hospital entrance. Day one on the new job and he’d landed a doozy of a case, maybe even a serial. Complete with media fireworks. He knew from experience that this kind of thing was a career maker. Or breaker, but he was not about to let that happen. He’d made the right decision coming here. Felt it in his gut.
He was going to make this work. With Ginny. With everything.
He phoned Ginny on his way in, but got voicemail. “Hey, kiddo, just checking to see how the rest of your day went. Sorry about this morning. Landed a whopper of a case. This is going to work out. We ... we need to talk about Christmas—plans. Give me a call, okay?”
CHAPTER 15
Angie and Holgersen crossed the blue iron bridge over the Gorge and turned into the gentrifying area along the water.
It was 6:07 p.m. on Sunday, and they’d been pushing sixteen hours straight now, amped on caffeine and junk food. Angie had barely slept since Thursday. Her brain felt odd—light and buzzy. She slowed her Crown Vic as they approached the bus shelter where, according to the driver on shift yesterday evening, Gracie Marie Drummond had gotten off, as usual, for her Saturday night shift at the Blue Badger Bakery.
Earlier, Angie and Holgersen had visited the bus depot, spoken with the manager, located the Saturday route driver, and gone to his house. Gary Vaughan, a veteran transit operator, had been both helpful and horrified. Angie replayed the driver’s words as she pulled off the road next to the bus stop and came to a halt.
Gracie was such a nice person, always so friendly, always a smile for everyone. Fairfield is an early stop on my shift. I do the first part of the night on Saturdays. Yes, she got off at the stop nearest the Blue Badger yesterday. Yes, I’m sure.
“This is it,” said Holgersen, peering through the rain-streaked window. “Vaughan said he made this stop around 6:37 p.m. Saturday.”
I was running late. I usually am by that point. I always have trouble keeping up to the posted schedule because of constant construction, traffic. The weather. It’s getting close to Christmas—always more congestion on the roads around that time, and on weekends.
“So,” Holgersen said, “Gracie Marie boards the bus right outside her apartment building in Fairfield. She takes her usual seat, right-hand side of the bus, near the front door, and she has white earbuds in her ears, listening to something on her phone, as she always did, according to the driver.” Holgersen turned to Angie. “Gary Vaughan there seems to have taken real special notice of our Gracie. What you make of him?”
“Not sure yet.” She mentally replayed more of their interview with Vaughan.
Did anyone else get off with her at that stop on Saturday?
Two guys. Wait, no, it was just the one. Week before, I think, it was two guys.
So this one guy who got off with her on Saturday, he’s a regular?
Yeah. Usually it’s Gracie Marie and the one guy. He’s on his regular home commute, it seems. Keeps to himself. Doesn’t make eye contact. Short. In his fifties, maybe. Asian looking.
And the other guy from the week before, what did he look like?
Tallish. Fit-looking. Dark clothes. Toque pulled low ... didn’t really see his face.
